


so beautifully

by epoenine



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Begging, Crying, Dom Combeferre, Dom/sub, Fluff, Gags, Multi, Nipple Clamps, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rope Bondage, Spanking, Sub Courfeyrac, Sub Enjolras, Threesome - M/M/M, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 18:47:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3144710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epoenine/pseuds/epoenine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre doesn’t think he’s seen anything more beautiful. In front of him, Enjolras and Courfeyrac are kneeling on the floor, wearing nothing except the flush of shame and arousal on their cheeks, eyes downcast and lower lips quivering. Still dressed in the button-up and slacks that he wore to work, Combeferre puts on his best stern, reprimanding face for this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so beautifully

Combeferre doesn’t think he’s seen anything more beautiful. In front of him, Enjolras and Courfeyrac are kneeling on the floor, wearing nothing except the flush of shame and arousal on their cheeks, eyes downcast and lower lips quivering. Still dressed in the button-up and slacks that he wore to work, Combeferre puts on his best stern, reprimanding face for this.

He’s learned to read their emotions like open books, no matter how guarded. From the slightest guilt in Enjolras’s eyes to the subtle frustrated pout of Courfeyrac’s lips, he knows exactly where they’re at.

“Courfeyrac,” Combeferre addresses, breaking the silence that has settled over their bedroom. He asks, “Did you think you’d be getting away with something, that I wouldn’t find out eventually?” because Courfeyrac is a bratty sub, and not unlike a child, he acts out when he wants attention.

He keeps his eyes lowered. “No.” They flick up to see Combeferre narrow his own. He doesn’t manage to conceal it when the flicker of annoyance crosses his emotions, and he definitely doesn’t hold back on the defiant tone in his voice. “ _Sir_.”

Combeferre decides he’s getting the worst of it tonight. With a mastered calm and steady voice, he asks, “What’s your color?”

“Green, sir.” His voice has gone quiet, like he might finally be aware of the punishment he’s brought on himself. He stays perfectly still, arms crossed behind his back while right next to him, Enjolras shifts and fidgets in his place.

Combeferre takes a step forward, grabbing a fistful of Courfeyrac’s dark curls before tugging back his head, forcing Courfeyrac to meet his eyes. “So you did it on purpose, then?” He can see the long line of Courfeyrac’s neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “Good boys don’t touch themselves without my permission. Right, Enjolras?” Enjolras’s gaze snaps up to Combeferre’s as he nods immediately. Combeferre untangles his fingers from Courfeyrac’s hair as he shifts to the left, letting them stroke over Enjolras’s own. “What about you, then? Why did you lie? Look at me.”

Enjolras shifts, bringing his gaze up to Combeferre. “I didn’t want Courfeyrac to get in trouble.” Combeferre runs his thumb over Enjolras’s cheekbone--his eyelids flutter and his posture slips, leaning in towards the touch. He’s always the first to break, but he does it so beautifully. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“I know,” Combeferre responds, “and what’s your color?” His eyes close and Combeferre grabs his hair the same way he did Courfeyrac’s. “Look at me, Enjolras. What’s your color?”

With blue eyes trained right on Combeferre’s, Enjolras lets out his breath as he says,”It’s green, sir.” Combeferre nods, dropping his hands to let them fall at his sides. He walks around them to the dresser, opening the drawer where they keep everything they’ll need for a scene.

Combeferre takes out a ball gag, brightly colored red and just big enough that it makes Enjolras’s bottom lip shine with spit. He tosses it on the bed along with a vibrator, nipple clamps, a cock ring, and lube.

“Both of you, up and on the bed,” he says, busying himself with getting out two bundles of rope, then turning to look at Enjolras and Courfeyrac. Just like before, they’re kneeling and their arms are crossed behind their backs, facing away.

With the bundles of rope, he secures their arms like that with a simple knot, nothing too complicated. He stands and appreciates their contrasts, from the brightness of Enjolras’s hair and his pale skin to Courfeyrac’s dark curls and brown skin.

Combeferre stands in front of Courfeyrac, smoothing his fingers over the jut of his Courfeyrac’s collarbones. “Hands and knees, Courfeyrac,” he tells him, stroking over his back as Courfeyrac scrambles into position. He slicks his fingers in lube, noticing the tensing of Courfeyrac’s muscles when he hears the click of the cap.

Courfeyrac hisses when the cold, wet finger runs over his entrance. Combeferre breeches him slowly, opening him up with long, teasing strokes. He finds his prostate, rubbing relentless circles around it until Courfeyrac is a shuddering, moaning mess.

Then he adds the second finger. Courfeyrac shifts his hips back for more, grasping for purchase but finding none. Beside him, Enjolras is watching with heavy-lidded eyes. Both of them are hard and leaking.

“Combeferre, stop _teasing_ \--” Courfeyrac starts, voice breaking as he fucks himself back on the fingers Combeferre has given him.

Combeferre grips Courfeyrac’s hip, hard. “Shut _up_.” His nails dig crescent moons into the soft skin. Working the vibrator into him, Combeferre tells him, “A dozen for you, I should think, except you forgot your place during the prep, so that’ll be half a dozen more. Half a dozen for Enjolras. You will count them. Since you can’t control yourself, Courfeyrac, you’re not going to come tonight.” Courfeyrac whines pitifully, and once the vibrator is in place, Combeferre snaps the cock ring on. “Come on, over my knee.”

Once they’re sitting, himself at the edge of the bed, Courfeyrac draped over his knees, and Enjolras beside them both, Combeferre wipes his fingers on the sheets and begins. He smooths his hand over the dip of Courfeyrac’s spine, the curve of his ass, and watches him shiver beneath his touch.

The sound rings throughout the room and Enjolras flinches at the sudden noise. Courfeyrac draws in a deep breath. “One,” he says, eyes tightly closed.

“Are you sorry, Courfeyrac?” Combeferre asks.

There’s no hesitation. “No, sir,” Courfeyrac replies. Another smack, painting Courfeyrac’s ass a flushing pink. They get up to six before Courfeyrac is letting out whines after each of them. At nine, he’s letting out small, hiccuping sobs, thrashing in Combeferre’s grip.

“Color?” he asks, feeling the heat of Courfeyrac’s marks. There’s no answer. “Courfeyrac, I need a color.”

After a stuttered breath, Courfeyrac breathes out, “Green,” in a small voice.

“Good,” Combeferre replies, and his hand comes down in a flurry of three sharp smacks. Courfeyrac half moans, half shouts through them all.

The next five are delivered slowly, drawing them out while Courfeyrac cries. In between, Combeferre pinches and kneads the skin, certain there’ll be bruises forming before the night is over.

Finally, the last one lands, the hardest of the eighteen. Courfeyrac lays there and takes it, limp and exhausted.

Combeferre drags Courfeyrac up into a kneeling position, wiping away the tears with his thumb. Courfeyrac draws in heaving breaths as Combeferre runs his hands over Courfeyrac’s shoulders, reassuring.

As the nipple clamps are attached, the chain holding them together drops against his chest and jostes them, and Courfeyrac lets out a long whine. “Shh,” Combeferre says, going back to soothing his hands over his shoulders. He lets his fingers run down his back until he gets to the base of the vibrator, where he pushes it in and out of him until he hears a moan. He fumbles for the remote and turns it on, catching Courfeyrac when he jerks forward from the feeling of the vibrations.

“Kneel right there, Courfeyrac,” Combeferre instructs, voice gentle as he guides him to the far side of the bed, “Yes, just like that. There, good, it’s almost over. You took that well, darling.”

His attention turns to Enjolras, who has stayed silent through it all, only stared with lust-filled eyes as he bit at his bottom lip. Combeferre brings his hands up to run a thumb over it, dipping his finger into Enjolras’s mouth when his lips part. He reaches to the foot of the bed, grabbing the ball gag to fasten it around Enjolras’s head.

Enjolras hates it and loves it at the same time, because his words are his power, and with the gag on he gives up the last shred of control he has--he lets himself go.

Combeferre sits down, places a hand on the small of Enjolras’s back to lead him into the position he wants. He makes sure to angle himself so Courfeyrac can see. Enjolras arches beneath his touch, beneath him running his fingers along the curved spine.

The first smack is no worse than the ones Courfeyrac got, because Combeferre doesn’t do favoritism, only punishment fitting the crime. Enjolras’s muffled shout and Courfeyrac’s moan mix together, sounds that go straight to Combeferre’s cock.

The next three are sharp and biting and they bring tears to Enjolras’s eyes. Courfeyrac has started to cry again, letting out high, keening whines as he writhes on the vibrator. Combeferre delivers the next two slowly, hard and blunt as he stops in between to pinch bruises into his skin.

“There,” he says, his voice soft. He brushes curls out of Enjolras’s face as he lifts him back up to a kneel. “It’s all over, now. I’m so proud of you.” Combeferre wipes the tears from Enjolras’s face before moving to sit back against the headboard. “Come here, sweetheart. You wanna get fucked?” He’s too far gone to enunciate properly. Enjolras climbs on top of him, straddling his waist as he nods. “Good boys get fucked, don’t they?” He nods more vigorously.

Another moan from Courfeyrac, who has started crying again. He stammers out pleas, “Combeferre, sir, I’m sorry--I’ll be good, I’m _sorry_ ,” but Combeferre only tells him to take his punishment as he slicks his fingers, revelling in the way Enjolras eyes follow the actions, in the way his mouth waters more at the sight, spit coating his chin, making him a mess. He presses a finger against Enjolras’s hole, sliding into the tight heat. Enjolras moans around his gag as Combeferre stretches him, eyes shut tight as a second finger is added.

When Combeferre pulls out, Enjolras whines at the loss. He unzips his trousers, slicking himself with lube and lifts Enjolras by the waist as if he weighs nothing, before dropping him down onto his cock.

Underneath Enjolras crying out, Courfeyrac is saying, “Combeferre, _Combeferre_ ,” pleading, begging, his eyes unable to look away from them. “Please, I’m sorry, Combeferre--” Just as Combeferre presses the button for the next setting, Courfeyrac is crying out as well.

Combeferre grabs onto Enjolras’s hips, thumbs digging hard into his hipbones, and moves him up until only the head of his cock is in, and down until he’s sheathed. In a low voice he saves just for this reason, he says, “Come on, Enjolras, show me you’re sorry. Make it up to me.”

Enjolras draws in the deepest breath he can get through the gag before fucking himself on Combeferre’s cock with short and shallow movements. His thighs burn from the exertion and his chest is heaving but he’s moaning, louder and longer than he has in weeks.

“Are you close?” he asks. Enjolras is nodding, legs shaking. “Are you gonna come? Tell me, I want to hear you say it.” He tries talking through the gag, muffled affirmations climbing in desperation. “What about Courfeyrac? I think I’ve changed my mind, I’m not that cruel,” he says, biting off a groan. “Do you think he’s learned his lesson?” There’s a nod from Enjolras and loud pleas from Courfeyrac. “What do you want, Courfeyrac?”

He can barely get out the words. “Please, _please_ , let me come, Combeferre, _oh_ , kiss me, please,” he begs, and Combeferre can hardly deny him. He leans in, kissing him hard, biting and sucking on Courfeyrac’s lower lip, letting his tongue fuck Courfeyrac’s mouth, the same rhythm as he’s using to fuck Enjolras.

Grabbing the chain on the nipple clamps and unclasping the cock ring, Combeferre says, “Both of you, come.” He can hear Courfeyrac screaming through his orgasm as he feels Enjolras clench down on him, and then he’s groaning, fucking up as he comes in Enjolras in three quick thrusts.

He’s breathless and shaking, but he fumbles for the remote and turns the vibrator off, tucking himself back in as he does so. Enjolras is slumped on him, and he sees that as the next order of business, so he undoes the ball gag and lifts Enjolras off of his spent cock. Enjolras lets out a hiss and a groan as Combeferre lays him down.

Combeferre continues on to Courfeyrac, unclamping the nipple clamps and feeling sharp arousal course through him as Courfeyrac cries out from the feeling of it. He unties them, throwing the rope on the floor for them to deal with later.

He tucks them both into his side and starts talking. “Beautiful, both of you. I’m the luckiest man in the world--can’t believe you trust me with that, you’re amazing, perfect.” He smooths back Enjolras’s hair with one hand as the other wipes Courfeyrac’s cheeks, getting rid of the shine of tears. “I love you both--you were perfect, so good, I’m so proud of you. You both took it so well.”

Enjolras hums, a happy sound coming from deep within his chest. Courfeyrac stays silent, face against Combeferre’s neck. He can feel the tiniest of motions there, kisses being pressed into his skin.

“Wrists okay?” he asks them. They both mumble affirmations. “Do your bruises need salve?” Enjolras shakes his head no, but Courfeyrac shrugs. “Tell me, Courfeyrac.”

His voice is small, fragile the way it always is after he’s been punished. “Hurts.”

Combeferre sits up, reaches across Enjolras to get the salve on the bedside table as Courfeyrac turns around. Before spreading what’s on his fingers around, Combeferre ducks his head and kisses the soft skin of Courfeyrac’s upper thigh, right under the marks he’s made.

Once it’s done, he can hear Courfeyrac let out a sigh of relief. Courfeyrac’s arm is thrown over Combeferre’s middle, fingers tightening and releasing in the material of his shirt. Enjolras hums again, shifting closer towards Combeferre.

He sits up, uncomfortable from Courfeyrac’s come sticky against his side and Enjolras’s a mess on his stomach. Pulling the button-up over his head, he uses that to wipe himself down quickly, taking more time to wipe gently at Enjolras’s thighs and red, loose hole. The thought of it makes his head dizzy with want, even though he couldn’t get it up again if he tried.

Grabbing the bottle of water on the bedside table, he takes a drink of it before saying, “Come on, everyone drink some. Have to keep hydrated,” offering the bottle first to Enjolras, who rolls his eyes before taking a sip, passing it to Courfeyrac. “There we go,” he murmurs, placing an affectionate, chaste kiss on Enjolras’s lips. “All done?” he asks Courfeyrac, who nods in reply. “Good, thank you.” He sets the bottle back on the table before pulling Courfeyrac into a kiss.

Courfeyrac’s always different after sex, quiet and subdued. Almost shy, really, especially after a scene intense as this one. Combeferre lets the kiss reassure him, his lips a gentle pressure on Courfeyrac’s own. When they pull away, he strokes Courfeyrac’s hair.

“Okay?” he asks, just to make sure, because the last thing he wants is for Courfeyrac to drop. His gaze is still a little unfocused and he’s shaky, so Combeferre sticks with the gentle touches to bring him back. “All right, almost there.” His hands run up and down Courfeyrac’s arms until his eyes settle on Combeferre’s. “There you are. Hello.”

The beginnings of a small smile trace Courfeyrac’s lips. “Hi,” he says, quietly. On Combeferre’s other side, Enjolras sits up, affection gracing his features.

Enjolras is the one to pull Courfeyrac into a kiss, soft and slow, both of them smiling into it. Combeferre watches with fondness until Enjolras pulls away, looking over at Combeferre before climbing up onto his lap.

He looks playful, something akin to a smirk on his lips as he kisses Combeferre once, chastely. Because Combferre knows the look Enjolras gets when he has ulterior motives--the one he’s wearing now--he asks, “What is it?” and rests his hands on Enjolras’s thighs.

“I know it’s technically take-out night, but I was wondering,” he says, pausing to laugh at Combeferre’s eye roll. “Make curry for dinner?”

Combeferre jokingly scoffs, but he answers, “Okay,” thumbs smoothing along the light hair on Enjolras’s thighs. The light in Enjolras’s eyes is worth it for putting in the effort of preparing a meal.

“But a nap first,” Enjolras says, like it’s decided. He falls back in the middle of the bed, settling right next to Courfeyrac. With another sly smile, he asks, “Get the light before you come to bed?”

Huffing an exasperated laugh, Combeferre gets out of bed to switch off the light. He kicks off his trousers, unhooking them from his ankles before looking up, eyes settling on the sight before him.

Courfeyrac and Enjolras are twined together, arms and legs wrapped in a mess of limbs. The natural light coming through the window falls over their unabashed naked bodies, golden sunlight making them glow. Combeferre thinks he might have to resvisit his earlier statement; this is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, he’s sure of it.

 


End file.
